Alexander Long

Unfinished Love Poem

– for James Wright

Like I’ve been saying All along, I’m not sure Where they’ve gone Off to. Why can’t I think Of that place as full Of lovers secretly kissing In unmodified light? This afternoon’s rain settles Along my jaw. I hope my bus is late. Three beers by noon, And now I go to chop The rows of onions For my bosses who mark Up the booze for us all. We keep coming back. This is the life I’ve got. I make salads from hearts Of iceberg picked by migrants Who curse and bless This country, state, and town; Their corner with the motel Whose windows acquire a sheen Over them as they drink Five-dollar Cuervo And spit it into their hands To slick back their hair, Desiring the unattainable Strippers who pass through Once a month. Oh Sweet Jesus, I keep imagining The regulars and the lawyers drunk Again, sliding off their chairs. What I really like About the clearest days Isn’t the light itself. At the trolley stop in Sharon Hill, Where I grew up and most can’t Leave, I’d stand there With the two bums, Big Bob and Chicken Man. For being desolate, they dressed Nice. They stank, though, And sniffed glue every chance They could. Otherwise, They no longer seemed to desire a thing, Not even the other’s shadow On the hottest afternoons, flirting With oblivion, waving to it As it floated by quiveringly Over their ears, White and light as milkweed. Trying to think of them again, In their polyester suits And dress shirts Buttoned all the way up To their scruffed wattles, Whose collars resembled a hit pigeon I saw once by the curb— Its wings lifting slightly As another A. Duie Pyle rig From Pittsburgh barreled through Sharon Hill, where I grew up, Without stopping until it hit The limits of West Philly— I can see they have Completed that agenda the dead Stars have laid out, and I don’t know Where they are now. So it is This bus stop We all end up at, Telephone wires swaying Between oceans, the sun Hovering right there, between Our fingers, with all its busted light. I’ve heard it called a lot Of things, not one of them Accurate. The pines And maples dripping with rain, For example, have their Latin Names that make them Seem larger, which I can remember Well enough most days, Which I love.